Three pregnancy tests. That’s how many it took for us to finally face up to the truth. Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. The first test didn’t work – my fault. I was supposed to pee on it for five seconds but I confused a bloated stomach and a big dinner with needing to pee.
The second time, it worked like a charm. I unintentionally held the test in my urine sample with the results window facing away from me and flipped it over, expecting it to take the two minutes it was supposed to for a result. It returned a “Pregnant” result instantly. I wasn’t even prepared! Omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod… I stared at the little cross for a good ten seconds, saying omigod omigod omigod over and over again in my head.
No matter how prepared you think you are – and I thought I was; after all, my period was two weeks late and I knew there was a good chance I might be pregnant – you are never really prepared for that feeling when you see the little blue cross. Suddenly, You. Are. Pregnant. You are. You don’t think you might be. You don’t wonder if your period is just late. You. Are. Pregnant. When you hear of your friends getting pregnant and when you tell people that maybe one day you will have a baby, you can’t actually imagine what it will feel like when it’s your turn.
Hubby is hardly the cheeriest soul before noon, especially when he’s woken up early on a Sunday morning. For the record I don’t consider 10am “early”, but I was going to have to approach this with caution. At least he’s sort of prepared after last night’s failed attempt.
I snuggle up to him. He smiles. A good sign. He mumbles something with his eyes closed. I say something back. “Darling,” I venture. “Mmm,” he says. Pause. “I love you,” I say. “Love you too,” he says. “I think I’m pregnant,” I say. His eyes fly wide open. “Really?” There’s a big smile on his face. And that is when I know… this is going to be okay. Fingers crossed.
xx
To understand what a big deal this is, you have to know our pregnancy was completely unplanned. When I first met my husband, he talked of starting a family young and having four kids – three girls and a boy, named Kimberly, Nicole, Megan and Ryan. I wanted to know why he would name his daughters after Power Rangers and told him there was no way in baby-land I was going to pop four children out my you-know-what.
(As part of my mental and emotional preparation for motherhood, I’m going to try and watch my language from now on.)
Then we got married. And he decided he only wanted two kids – a boy and a girl. And that one of them should grow up to become a doctor. I agreed with the numbers part. The sex, well, I used to really want a boy but now I don’t really mind either way. And I don’t care if neither becomes a doctor; in fact, I contemplated secretly discouraging it.
The first three years, I stayed religiously on the Pill. We were having too much fun and besides, we were too young. People who’d voiced concerns about us marrying at 23 (for me, 24 for him) couldn’t very well start asking about children after all they’d said now, could they? That would be downright hypocritical.
The fourth year, we decided I should go off the Pill. Not because we wanted to start a family – we were still having too much fun to do that – but because we felt three straight years of me popping drugs every single day was enough. We considered other forms of birth control but didn’t really get down to using any of them. So we decided to leave it to God. Which is another way of saying we’d play Russian roulette. And I made sure I understood the workings of the female ovulation cycle.
A year passed. Hubby and I had several conversations about children, hubby and his mother had several conversations about children, I had several conversations about children with my parents, sisters, colleagues, hubby’s relatives… The more people asked, the more adamant hubby became – he doesn’t want children. Not now. Maybe later. I concurred. We were still young, I was barely domesticated, what was I going to do with a baby?
And then, just when we got everybody to see our point of view, bam. I suppose it was only a matter of time before it happened but we did not see this one coming. We’d planned an 11km run for the following weekend and a scuba diving trip for the following month. You can’t scuba dive when you’re pregnant.
xx
Still, for all our talk of not yet wanting to start a family, hubby and I were strangely happy the morning we found out. I guess the miracle of it (and the conception of a baby is a miracle) hit us. The fact that we were going to have a baby of our own, the fact that his little swimmers had pulled it off… It’s never quite as amazing when it happens to someone else, which explains my goofy rambling about miracles and such when I already have a dozen friends who are parents.
We didn’t tell anyone. We wanted a third test to be sure. But all that morning and afternoon, I walked around as if I was in this huge bubble of a secret that nobody else could see or feel. Which was true. But it was a little surreal.
Being female, I’d already mapped out the next year in my head as soon as the test turned positive. Who should we tell? Which doctor should we go to? How are we going to break the news? Gosh, my grandma and mother-in-law are going to be ecstatic. I must tell Jessie. What am I going to do about work?
But being married to a man, I understood the need to let the news sink in a little before I started asking important questions. So I didn’t say anything. In the afternoon, we went out and got a third test. That evening, we got what I suppose was our confirmation: I really am pregnant.
“I guess we’re going to need a bigger house,” hubby had said that morning as he made his way to the bathroom sink. And then, “Can we get a dog to play with our baby and guard it?”
[Originally written: 26 July 2009]
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